


The Best Things About Christmas

by Always_Dreaming



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF
Genre: All Types of Fluff, Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-08-24 01:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16630040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Always_Dreaming/pseuds/Always_Dreaming
Summary: Christmas 2018 stories- super-fluffiness for the season.1: ~Snow~2: >Anticipation<3: ^Mistletoe^4: {Santa}5: *Stars*6: %Presents%MERRY CHRISTMAS. ho ho ho.





	1. ~~SNOW~~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorge and Vale take their long awaited trip to Venice, but things don’t go as smoothly as they hoped…

“All flights are grounded?!?” Jorge snarled at the flight receptionist quavering behind her desk at Marco Polo airport. “You mean we’re stuck here until the snow stops?”

Vale had never seen his ex-team mate go so red in the face—he didn’t know whether to laugh or be alarmed.

“I have important things to do, I can’t stay here for endless days!” The Majorcan’s voice rose to such a shout that all the nearest travellers and staff members looked round with wide eyes and stopped what they were doing.

“I’m really sorry sir, the snow is too heavy and all the pilots say it isn’t safe to take off,” said the receptionist, with a bit more conviction in her voice.

“This is unacceptable! I want a charter flight immediately! I have to—”

Vale touched his arm. “I think you need to calm down, we should—”

Jorge pulled away from him. “Calm down? They need to realise I have a schedule! I have meetings—”

“Yes, yes, I know, but shouting won’t help anyone. Let’s just go and have a coffee while we think what to do.” He managed to lead his irate companion to the nearest café, where luckily there was no queue for drinks, as all the flights were grounded and travellers had gone home.

“This is the typical end to the year I’ve had,” continued Jorge. “Ducati dismisses me, then Marc ruins my foot, then I break my wrist and miss all those races. He started my problems and it’s all his fault!”

“Well, I can’t disagree,” said the Italian. “You know I think he is a little shit.”

“He is!” Jorge paid for his coffee and stamped off towards a table, leaving Vale scurrying after him.

They sat for a quiet few minutes, Jorge scowling out of the window, Vale chewing his lip.

“I want to get revenge on the little shit,” said the Majorcan. “How would he like it if I broke his foot?”

But Vale had other concerns, now his companion had calmed down a little. “We should go back to Venice as soon as possible. We can’t stay overnight in the airport, the hotels here are probably full, and not very nice.”

Jorge paused, distracted at last. “How will we get back there? Will the buses be running?”

“I don’t know. But we better go now.” The two riders abandoned their coffees, grabbed their bags and hastened to the bus departure area, while pulling their woolly hats lower over their heads and fastening their dark, quilted coats. These disguises were the reason they had evaded being identified for their weekend trip—the last thing they wanted was to be surrounded by a horde of screaming fans.

“Last bus to Venice!” shouted the driver. “Last bus!” 

The doors began to close but Vale called, “wait for us!”

The two guys sprinted towards the bus as the driver opened the doors again, and they flung themselves into the nearest seats. Luckily, as they’d only been in Venice for the weekend, their bags were small and easy to hold on their laps.

***

On the journey to Venice, the bus drove cautiously as the snow was falling more heavily, but luckily it was a big luxury coach and could cut through the slushy snow easily.

“What sort of tyres do you think this bus has?” asked Vale, to distract Jorge from complaining about Marc.

“Oh, full wets I expect!” The Majorcan actually smiled. “Definitely not the weather for slicks.”

They carried on discussing the technological specs of the bus, which to the Italian’s relief, kept his annoyed friend off the subject of how terrible his year had been, how terrible Marc was and all his other complaints.

After a while, the bus drew onto the long bridge which crossed the water and led back to Venice and had to slow to a crawl.

“Another thirty minutes till we get there!” shouted the driver, and everyone muttered and mumbled impatiently.

But looking out of the windows was magical, because the snowflakes whirled by, and the shape of Venice grew closer and closer, looking like a little Nativity scene with shadowy buildings dotted with small golden windows. Jorge was transfixed, as he sat nearest the window, and almost became hypnotised by the scene.

“So, what we’ll do is find rooms and stay til the weather clears,” said Vale practically, interrupting the Majorcan’s reverie. “If we’re lucky we can re-book the rooms we had for the weekend.”

“I doubt it. It would be just my luck to end up sleeping on the street.”

“Don’t be too negative, will you,” sighed the Italian, feeling his patience running out.

Jorge turned to him, prepared to argue, but the weekend in Venice had been so enjoyable that he mellowed somewhat as he remembered it. They had stayed in separate lavish rooms in a luxury hotel, wandered round the city and eaten delicious Italian food. Because the weather was cold, their big coats and beanie hats had allowed them to sightsee anonymously, which was a welcome break from their normal life of being surrounded by screaming fans. They hadn’t done too much wandering though, as Jorge was still wary about the condition of his foot, so there had been plenty of sitting in cafés watching the world go by, also a welcome change from their usual hectic fast pace—like a lull in a storm. 

The day they’d arrived in Venice, it had been cold and fresh, but no snow. That had suddenly appeared on the morning of their departure—clouds had gradually edged into the clear blue sky, filling it with grey and then the whirling snowflakes had begun to fall. 

Jorge realised that Vale was staring at him, waiting for a reply, so said, “sorry. I'm sure we’ll get a room.”

 _Finally,_ thought the older rider. _He’s forgotten to frown and actually smiled._

***

By the time the bus drew into Venice an hour later, it was going so slowly, it was nearly at a crawl. It had been a long journey and the two riders were glad to get out and stretch their legs. The snow was pretty deep now, although because so many feet had scuffed it up and disturbed it, there was a clearer path along each walkway.

“So, where to now?” Jorge asked, turning to the Italian questioningly. This was his country, after all.

“Our old hotel is down here.” Vale led him down the alleyways til they came to the building, which was set in a picturesque square, which looked even prettier now due to the snow covering every possible surface. They went in and enquired at the desk, but of course, their previous rooms were booked already, because the large lobby was full of stranded travellers, so he and Jorge had to leave and find another place for the night.

“Which are the good hotels around here?” The Majorcan was getting a little anxious due to his still achy foot and he didn’t want to damage it further by walking miles.

“Erm…we’ll see what we find.” The pair wandered aimlessly around, looking for hotels. But every one of them was booked solid due to the snow trapping visitors in the beautiful city. The snow was still falling and it was now getting dark. The twinkling lights were switching on in every window and Christmas decorations glittered everywhere. But prettiness was no use to the two stranded riders.

After half an hour, the duo at last found a hotel with one room available.

“We’ll take it,” said Vale at once.

“It is a double room,” said the clerk, eyeing the two riders.

“We don’t care.” It wasn’t as if they hadn’t spent years in trailers, sleeping anywhere, when they were young. They could muddle through sharing a bed for one night. 

The Italian led the way up the stairs. The hotel was definitely not first class—the carpets were old fashioned and worn, the patterned wallpaper fading a little and when they entered the room, it was homely, not luxurious.

“This is terrible,” complained Jorge, as he looked round. The room was a warm amber colour—the wallpaper was flocked and old fashioned, the carpet had a wild baroque pattern and the walls were decorated with prints of medieval scenes of Venice. “There’s no TV.”

They threw down their bags on the floor and Jorge flung himself on the bed with a sigh, ripping off his hat and throwing that on the floor too. 

“God, my foot!” he moaned. “We’ve been walking around for too long. And my wrist hurts too.”

Vale plonked himself down in the armchair. “Well I don’t know what you want me to do! We came to Venice for the weekend as you wanted. All you’ve done is complain and moan and spoil everything. Now we’re stranded here and I have to put up with you moaning for yet another night!” 

He jumped up and stormed into the bathroom. There were no complementary bathrobes there as it was such a cheap hotel, so he flounced out again into the bedroom to find Jorge sitting up on the bed staring at him, open mouthed.

“I—I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “I didn’t think.”

“No! You didn’t! You’ve just been going on about Marc the whole time and how much you hate him. I am the one who should hate him after what he did to me in 2015! I am the one who suffered the most at his hands and yet I have to be polite and professional in press conferences and continue speaking to someone I don’t want to speak to!” All Vale’s pent up annoyance at Marc, and at Jorge’s continual complaining, burst out of him and he stood there shaking and red with rage, his fists clenched.

Jorge stared at him in shock. Just as he was about to speak, a painting on the wall of the room caught his eye. It was a gondola, steered by a brightly dressed gondolier on the lagoon of Venice. This gave him an idea and he jumped up to look out of the window. The snow had abated a little and he could see gondolas travelling slowly up and down the canals. The gondoliers needed the money, so had to go out in all weathers.

“We need to do something fun. Come with me, and I promise I won’t moan for the rest of the time we’re in Venice.” He took Vale’s arm and the Italian was so surprised he just meekly accepted it.

***

After retrieving his hat disguise, Jorge led him out of the hotel and to a gondola station. He insisted on hiring the largest, most gaudy boat and climbed in at once, pulling Vale after him. They sat facing each other—the snow had become lighter now and as they were wrapped up in their coats and hats, they weren’t too cold. 

The gondolier set off down the small canals of Venice—the sun had set completely now, the little windows in the buildings were all lit, and there were ‘streetlamps’ down every canal. Jorge looked around in wonder and felt relaxed for the first time since he’d got to Venice. The previous time had been enjoyable but he’d been on edge, not knowing if he’d suddenly get recognised, how his foot and wrist would hold out. But now he didn’t have to do anything but sit on a comfortable seat and be transported past beautiful scenery. He snuggled down into the seat and watched the view go by.

Vale was looking in the other direction as the boat slowly slipped through the water. He saw the canal and snow covered buildings receding into the distance, like a framed picture of a Christmas card. He became so hypnotised by the sight, that he didn’t notice Jorge had fallen asleep until a snore made him jump. The Majorcan’s head was lolling dangerously to the side and out of the boat, so Vale slid over to sit next to him, carefully so the gondola didn’t tip over. He pulled the sleeping man towards him and Jorge slumped against him.

 _He’s tired!_ Vale realised. _That’s why he’s been cross all weekend—maybe he didn’t sleep well in his hotel room. Luca gets like that sometimes when he’s tired—complaining and sulking all the time, but all he needs is rest._

So the tall Italian settled his companion against him and enjoyed the view as the gondola slid forward. The gondolier pointed out various sights of Venice in snow—beautiful buildings, picturesque churches, well carved statues, and Vale gasped in delight. It was a shame Jorge wasn’t seeing them but he obviously needed to sleep.

Then the boat headed out of the small canals and into the main one, and the Rialto Bridge slid into view ahead. Even though the Vale had seen it many times, he gasped at the sight of the beautiful structure covered in snow, lit by warm yellow street lamps, with the occasional person hurrying by. And of course the many Christmas decorations were glistening in the light, sparkling like crystals and diamonds, and this sight was also reflected in the dark water. The Italian exclaimed with joy, and his sleeping companion jumped, and woke up.

“What the—” he mumbled.

“Look!” said Vale, clutching his arm and pointing at the breath-taking sight. Somewhere, the noise of jingle bells sounded and Jorge gasped, forgetting to be annoyed by everything.

The gondolier pushed the boat closer, little by little, and a cold breeze gusted from the wider canal and Jorge shivered, having got cold while he was asleep. Subconsciously, Vale tucked him under his arm and they both gazed happily up at the glittering bridge.

“Here is the end of the tour,” said the gondolier, drawing up at a dock. The two riders stumbled out of the boat half asleep, as they’d been lulled by the snow, the darkness, the soothing motion of the gondola into a state of drowsiness.

***

Happily, they went back to their hotel thinking there would be a restaurant downstairs, but there wasn’t.

“Where shall we go for dinner?” asked Jorge, his face looking relaxed and sleepy, which made a nice change to his angry, sulky expression earlier.

It was still snowing, so most people were now at home or in their hotel rooms. Venice was nearly silent, the streets were more or less deserted and the footprints were slowly disappearing under the snow. It was like a winter wonderland, a magical floating town, another world compared to real life.

“We’d better find somewhere quickly or the restaurants will all close,” Vale said, thinking where they could go.

So they went towards the nearest pizzeria, but two waiters were just shutting the front door and pulling up the awning.

“We can give you a takeaway pizza?” suggested one of them. “Everyone is going home because of the snow, so there’s no point staying open.”

The riders agreed and bought two Margherita pizzas, which were put in boxes, and two boxes of red wine, which was all the restaurant had left. The waiters put the meal in bags so it could be carried and said a cheery goodnight.

“Will the hotel allow us to eat and drink in our room?” asked Jorge as they neared their hotel.

“They will if we give them enough money.”

Sure enough, the clerk at reception frowned at the bags, which were giving off delicious tomato and cheese smells, but the huge tip Vale gave him changed all that. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them to their room and turned to the next group of people wanting accommodation.

***

When they arrived in their room, it was chilly and dark. The pair had hoped to feel warm and dry after their gondola trip and walk in the cold snowy air outside, but it was not to be. The Italian switched on the rather dim light and inspected the room for any kind of heating but didn’t find any.

“No heating! No TV! It’s like the old days when I was racing as a kid,” complained Jorge, stamping into the bathroom.

Vale rolled his eyes. “We’ve got food and drink, we don’t need anything else.” He put the pizza boxes on the bed and looked round for glasses. There was a kettle and teacups on the small table by the chest of drawers, so those would have to do. He opened the tap of the red wine box and poured some into each cup. They would have to eat the pizza out of the boxes. The only utensils were teaspoons, so he tried to cut one pizza into slices with that and failed miserably. He started laughing at the silliness of the whole situation and took a gulp of wine.

Jorge stomped out of the bathroom, saw what he was doing with the teaspoon, and began to laugh too. “Er…I don’t think that’s going to work. Shall we just tear the pizza apart with our hands?’

“It’ll be more fun if you have some wine.” Vale thrust a full teacup of wine at him, spilling some in his haste.

“Careful! Don’t get it on my—”

“Your what? Cheap clothes that you used as a disguise?”

The Majorcan laughed again and began tearing pieces off his own pizza with his fingers.

They continued drinking the wine from the box and devouring the pizzas, which were very tasty, considering they were the last ones left over, and discussing the gondola trip and how beautiful Venice was in the snow, getting more and more silly as the wine box emptied.

“I still want to get revenge on Marc for what he’s done to me this year,” said Jorge, bouncing on the bed with a crescent of pizza in his hand. “I should sabotage his bike next year in Honda.”

“How though? Piss in his petrol tank?” Vale laughed wildly.

“Or!” Jorge stopped bouncing. “Pour this wine in there! It’s terrible. It would screw up his engine.”

“Tempting! Imagine what Puig would say: _this isn’t our normal fuel!_ ” Vale, still laughing, took their tea cups and filled them with wine again. The first wine box was empty so he’d started on the second. Then he sat down on the bed next to Jorge and they clinked cups.

“I want you to know. I had nothing to do with what happened in 2015,” blurted the younger man. “I don’t do dishonest things like that.”

The two riders stared at each other, and the blue eyes looked away first.

“I know,” said Vale. “I was just angry with the little shit. And Uccio said—”

“Never mind Uccio. Let your own heart direct you.” Jorge took a large gulp of wine, then slumped back on the bed. “I need to sleep.” He fumbled with the zipper of his coat but it jammed halfway. “I’m going to sleep in my clothes, it’s too cold in here.”

He wriggled up the bed like a caterpillar, the quilted coat making a slithering noise, which made Vale giggle again.

“You can’t do that, you’ll boil. Let me.” He crawled up the bed and tried to undo Jorge’s zip, but it was firmly stuck. “You’ll have to take it over your head.” He sat the Majorcan up and tried to pull his coat up over his head, they were both giggling now like silly boys.

After a lot of wriggling, they eventually they got the coat off and Jorge dived under the duvet still wearing his other clothes and boots.

“Jorge!” shouted Vale. “You can’t wear your boots in bed!” But he was just met with snoring, so with a big sigh, he began to undo his ex-team mate’s boots and wiggle them off his feet. it was difficult because the Majorcan kept moving in his sleep and mumbling, but at last the boots lay on the floor.

Not feeling like sleeping yet, the tall Italian went to look out of the window, which was small and the glass somewhat frosted with age. He couldn’t see much because the hotel was down a side alley, but he could see the occasional person battling through the snow. And of course the white layer on everything added a brilliance to the night because the street lamps reflected off it. That was the good thing about snow—it was light and clear, and brightened up every dark corner.

As he watched people struggling to walk through the drifts and whirling snowflakes, he thought, _life doesn’t stop when a big event happens, you just have to keep going. I felt like my life stopped when I lost the 2015 championship but it didn’t. You just have to keep moving forward, like these people—they are determined to keep going, and get to their destination, wherever it is._

He looked back at his sleeping companion, who snored and mumbled in his sleep. Jorge looked so young, his face had relaxed and he wasn’t frowning or looking suspicious for once. 

There was nowhere else to sleep in the room, and Vale was tired now, so he took his own coat and boots off and crept into bed with Jorge. He turned his back on him and tried to sleep, but it was too cold and his mind was buzzing with thoughts. He’d never really believed Jorge had collaborated with Marc in 2015, he’d just let himself be swept away by his friends and fans gossiping and suggesting conspiracy theories. The situation had grown out of all proportion and become ridiculous.

The Majorcan muttered something in his sleep and Vale turned over to look at him. Jorge was like an annoying little brother most of the time—always taking wins and titles from him, but when someone treated him badly, like Ducati this year, Vale felt a bit protective. They’d been in the same team together for so long that they had got to know each other well, and it had become comfortable.

He was surprised when Jorge turned over and cuddled up to him, but it was so cold outside and warm in the bed, and it had been a long day—the gondola ride had been fun, but everything else had been quite difficult, and he wanted to sleep now. So he put his arm round Jorge and they cuddled up together, falling asleep like two puppies in a cosy basket, while the snow whirled outside in the fairy-tale land of Venice. The wind blew over the magical town, and jingle bells sounded in the air.

~~THE END~~

Next chapter- _Iannone is the manager of a sushi restaurant, Rins is a difficult customer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it is early but I am blocking out the state of our country with fluffy stories right now.


	2. >>>ANTICIPATION<<<

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrea Iannone is the manager of a sushi restaurant, Alex Rins is a difficult customer.

**Monday**

“Mr Iannone, there’s a customer who wants to speak to you about the tempura rolls,” said Maria, the waitress, as she hurried past the restaurant manager.

“Me? What does he want to say to me?”

“He wants to make a complaint and refused to speak to anyone else but the manager. It’s one of the business men at the big table in the window.” She breezed into the kitchen, she was far too busy to get involved.

Andrea Iannone strode out into the restaurant to see who wanted to speak to him. A group of young men, all dressed alike in dark business suits, sat talking and laughing round the table, which was decorated like all the other tables at this time of year, with a festive red cloth and a green and gold runner down the middle.

“I’m the manager, how can I help you?” he asked the man at the head of the table. It wouldn’t reassure the other customers if he asked what the problem was in the middle of the restaurant.

“My colleague has a complaint,” said the man, pointing to his co-worker, who had slicked back, dark hair and large eyes. Iannone glided along the table to stand near the complainant, who looked up and stared intensely into the Italian’s eyes.

“These tempura rolls are not wrapped tightly enough, they look very untidy,” he said. “I like to see very neat rolls, and they are also much easier to eat.”

“Oh. Well, I’m very sorry sir. They are hand rolled in our kitchen, I’ll have a word with the chef.” The manager found it hard to break the gaze of the customer, so had to blink and shake his head to do so. “Please accept a complementary box of rolls as an apology.”

“That will do nicely,” said the man, and inclined his head regally. “But please bring me the box yourself.”

While this exchange had been going on, the other men at the table hadn’t taken the slightest notice, just carried on talking and laughing, making fun of each other and telling jokes. So it wasn’t a major problem, just one fussy customer, which was a relief to the Italian, who was proud of his restaurant.

Andrea went back to the kitchen feeling rather mystified by such a precise complaint. He told the chef personally to roll the tempura as tightly as possible and arranged for one of the waiters to take the box out to the customer. He wasn’t going to bother taking the box himself! It was beneath him to carry out such errands.

**Tuesday**

The next evening, Andrea was surprised to be told that there was another complaint, this time from someone at table 42, who insisted on seeing the manager. This was very strange—usually no one criticised his restaurant, it was the top quality establishment in the area.

He went out to table 42, to find the same man from the business party yesterday sitting there.

“Hello again, Mr—?” he asked.

“Mr Rins. Alex Rins.” The lanky man smiled.

“How can I help you this evening?”

“I’m sad to say, the tuna roll hasn’t enough sauce. I can’t taste anything but the fish. Very disappointing.” He smiled angelically at the manager, who frowned.

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry again, sir. Let me fetch the sauce, I’m sure we can do a quick fix on your meal today.” Andrea felt a little annoyed but felt smugly that he could miraculously transform the customer’s food and everyone would be impressed. He turned to leave.

“Oh by the way, I was most disappointed that you didn’t bring my tempura box personally yesterday.” Alex Rins frowned.

“It seems I must apologise again.” The manager was definitely annoyed by this fussy customer now—most of his diners were very satisfied, which was the reason they returned again and again. They didn’t return to complain all the time. He strode off to get some sauce from the chef.

“You don’t think he’s an official food critic?” whispered Maria in his ear as he went back into the kitchen.

“I don’t know…usually they don’t make a fuss, they remain anonymous and inconspicuous.” But it was possible that the annoying Mr Rins was a food critic, and Andrea didn’t want a bad review for his restaurant. So he pretended he wasn’t annoyed and took the small pot of sauce to the table with a meek attitude, unlike his usual proud one.

“Allow me sir.” He took off his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves and poured the little pot all over the tuna, giving it an extra shake to get every bit of the sauce out. If this fussy customer wanted saucy tuna rolls, that’s what he’d get. He was certainly admiring Andrea’s shaking technique, so he did it for even longer. That would show this fussy customer that Iannone’s restaurant would go to any lengths to satisfy its customers.

“Oh no, I think you’ve put too much on,” said Rins after the Italian had finished. “Hm…” He daintily tasted the tuna roll, then pulled a face. “It’s far too soggy now.”

Andrea glowered at him, with his hands on hips. Was there no pleasing this man, who was looking him up and down complacently. Or was it admiringly? He smiled coldly and whisked the plate of over-sauced tuna rolls back to the kitchen.

A few moments later, Maria took a selection of moderately sauced tuna rolls back to table 42, because Andrea had shut himself in his office with a Do Not Disturb sign on the door.

**Wednesday**

When Alex Rins arrived for his third dinner of the week at Andrea’s restaurant, the staff hovered nervously around.

“Are we sure he isn’t a food critic?” quavered Maria.

“We’re sure!” snapped the manager. “He’s just a spoilt idiot who likes making a fuss. My restaurant has the best reviews in town, he’s just trying to pick holes in it.” He abruptly remembered his status. “But of course we don’t want bad reviews, so I’ll humour him.”

“Are you sure he’s just trying to pick holes?” said Maria, nudging him. “Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

“What?”

“Kind of…adoringly.” She giggled and so did the other two serving staff.

“Everyone looks at me adoringly,” said Andrea, puffing out his chest. “I can’t help being so gorgeous.”

He lurked around the kitchen after that, kind of hoping Alex Rins would call for him again. There was nothing he liked better than being admired.

His luck was in, because he did indeed get a complaint from the occupant of table 42. He strutted regally out of his office and arrived at Rins’ shoulder in a few minutes.

“Yes?” he said proudly, trying to stand in his most attractive manner and show off his muscles.

“There is not enough avocado in this vegetable roll,” said the customer, holding it up to show him.

“Good gracious no!” exclaimed the Italian, dramatically. “I must rectify that immediately!” Several other diners looked round at the commotion and Andrea laughed to himself. If Rins wanted a scene, he’d get one.

The young man seemed startled by this display but soon regrouped. “Oh yes,” he said, gazing wide eyed at him. “I’d like an avocado themed vegetable roll please.”

“Certainly sir.” Andrea felt like a superhero, diving in to save this poor, avocado-less man, and strode back to the kitchen.

When he brought the roll back, so stuffed with avocado that it was spilling out, he placed it on Rins’ plate with an exaggerated bow. Then waited, trying not to show he was actually nervous about the assessment.

“Hm,” said the diner after eating about half of the roll. “I have to say—”

The manager leant forward, on tenterhooks. “Yes?” he almost squeaked.

“It is—above average. Edible, at least.” Rins beamed angelically at the Italian, who had some trouble suppressing his anger. Would nothing satisfy this man?

“It’s very smooth and creamy, anyway.” The young man licked his lips slowly and Iannone had to look away as it made him feel awkward for some reason.

“Enjoy the rest of your meal.” He smiled grimly and stalked back to the kitchen.

**Thursday**

The next evening, Alex Rins didn’t turn up for dinner, and the restaurant staff were perplexed. 

“Where’s your admirer?” teased Maria, tapping Andrea’s arm. “Perhaps he doesn’t love you anymore.”

“Shut up.” The manager lifted his chin in the air snootily. “I have plenty of admirers.”

Just then, Alex Rins hastened into the restaurant, looking flustered. He slumped down in his chair at table 42 and closed his eyes.

The staff gathered round the kitchen door, muttering, “what’s happened, what is it, he doesn’t look right.”

“I will investigate.” Andrea strode out. “Good evening, sir, what would you like to eat tonight?”

“I can’t afford anything,” whispered the young man. His normally slicked back hair had escaped its confines and was curling wildly at the back, like a beast that had escaped from its cage. “I was just mugged and they took my wallet. I ran in here to feel safe. I won’t stay long, I’ll have to borrow some money off my colleagues, we’re only here for the week long conference.” He drooped in his chair.

The Italian bristled. How dare criminals mug such an innocent! “You will have a good meal today, on the house,” he announced proudly. “Never let it be said that Iannone’s restaurant abandons the unfortunate!”

Alex beamed up at him, fluttering his eyelashes, which made Andrea hurry back into the kitchen before he forgot what he was doing.

He arranged a filling sushi meal for the young customer, who for once, ate it gratefully without any complaint. The manager knew this because he stood at the kitchen door, watching him take every bite of the delicious food and swallow it.

**Friday**

When Alex arrived on the Friday for his evening meal, he was back to his usual neat self, and sat down smiling. He ordered his dinner and seemed to be tucking into it happily, so Andrea was annoyed when Maria came in saying he’d made a complaint.

He strode out to table 42. “What is wrong now?” he demanded. “You get so much free food from my restaurant, it can’t be so bad that you need to complain about it!” He loomed over Alex like a giant.

“Um—er—this roll isn’t crunchy enough. It’s a bit limp.” He looked up sweetly, with a half-smile on his lips. “I don’t like limp things.”

“You are never satisfied,” hissed Andrea.

“There’s a reason for that.”

“What, in god’s name? What is the reason?”

“I don’t like sushi. I never have. I prefer a nice pizza, or chips. Something like that.”

“Then why did you come here to eat?” The manager frowned deeply.

“I came with my colleagues that first night because we’re at a conference here, then I saw something I liked on the menu.” He looked the Italian up and down slowly, and they both blushed.

For once, the manager was speechless and his mouth flapped open soundlessly.

“So maybe, as I don’t like sushi, we could go somewhere else to have dinner? My conference ends on Sunday so it would have to be soon.”

Part of Andrea was offended at the devious methods of Alex, but the other part was full of admiration at being so skilfully manipulated.

“Where do you suggest?” he asked.

“I’m staying at the Riviera hotel round the corner, we could go there.”

“Oh yes, I know it. They have a restaurant don’t they?”

“Yes they do. They also have room service.” Alex winked.

Andrea had stayed at the Riviera hotel before—the rooms were decorated in extravagant baroque style and the metal headboards on the beds were ornamental and very robust. He suddenly got an image in his mind of an undressed Alex tied to a headboard with a golden curtain cord while he fucked him slowly and teasingly until he begged for more, instead of complaining about what he got. He sat down quickly on the other chair at the table to hide his sudden arousal and Alex smirked at him, as if he could read his mind.

The young businessman picked up a sushi roll and slid it slowly into his mouth, sucked on it, then took it out even more slowly, his glance locked on the manager’s eyes, which widened. This time, the tall Italian got a vision of himself tied to the headboard with Alex’s mouth round his cock, his curly hair released and wildly falling all over Andrea’s thighs and abs.

He crossed his legs, trying to keep calm. “So…I can leave the restaurant in—say—about an hour?” He smoothed down his hair, partly to make it look perfect but mainly to stop him grabbing Alex and rushing to the hotel in five seconds.

“Yes of course,” said Alex innocently, sucking on another roll. “I’m in room 429, I’ll meet you at reception.”

>>>THE END<<<

_Next chapter- Tito is the rich owner of a luxury jewellery store, Maverick is a cheeky courier._


	3. ^^^MISTLETOE^^^

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tito is the rich owner of a luxury jewellery store, Maverick is a cheeky courier.

Tito Rabat sighed as he sat in the back office of his jewellery store, struggling to add up the sales figures for the umpteenth time. The spreadsheet just didn’t give him the numbers he expected. As the manager of the Rabats’ jewellery empire, it was all down to him to maximise profits, especially this near to Christmas, which was five days away.

Suddenly he spotted the mistake! One of his deliveries hadn’t arrived yet. Hm…It had been due at midday today but it was now quarter to five and there was no sign of it. Where could it be? Usually the delivery company was 100% reliable, which was why Tito had chosen them. He always went for a score of 100% in everything, because that was the way to follow in his father’s efficient footsteps and make the company a success.

Since his parents and brother died, Tito was the only member of the Rabat family left. So he _had_ to make their family company a success, there was no excuse for anything less than perfection. He spent twenty four hours a day, seven days a week either at his office, at one of his stores, or at home thinking up ways to increase profits, create more exquisite jewellery lines, encourage more customers to buy from Rabats. He even dreamed about jewellery designs and which metals and jewels to use. He was the definition of a workaholic with no private life.

Increasingly raised voices out in the sales area disturbed Tito from his calculations and he tutted.

“But you’re late and this is all wrong!” 

“It’s not wrong. It’s the delivery I was given and I’m only a few minutes late!”

The argument went on for such a long time that Tito strode out of his office. _Really! How unprofessional to have staff and drivers arguing in the shop—what will customers think?_

He was met by the sight of Angelique, the head of jewellery sales, confronting a courier in a black uniform. The man held a wheeled trolley on which sat three boxes, which they were both gesturing at impatiently.

“You’ve brought the wrong boxes!” she insisted, her face reddening.

“I haven’t!” said the courier heatedly. “These are the ones I was given.”

“What is going on here?” demanded Tito, interrupting them.

They both turned to him, the courier wearing a severe frown. But even that expression couldn’t stop Tito from seeing how gorgeous he was—dark hair, dark eyes, but with surprisingly pale skin, which contrasted nicely. He had a downy moustache and goatee beard, which showed how young he was. But anyway, this wasn’t the time for admiring couriers, Tito told himself firmly.

“He’s brought the wrong stock!” Angelique exclaimed. “And I’m just about to go home so I can’t fill in the paperwork to send it back!”

“It’s not wrong,” insisted the courier, slapping the display case in his annoyance. “I just took what they gave me.”

“Please!” Tito glared at him. “Do not touch our cases, they are fragile.”

“Sorry, but I’m right.” He set his jaw firmly and stood waiting with an eyebrow raised. “Anyway, I’m just doing what I’m told. You aren’t supposed to ‘shoot the messenger.’” He made air quotes with his fingers.

 _The damn cheek of this man._ Tito made a quick decision. “Angelique, you may go. I will stay late to sort the problem out.”

“Are you sure, Mr Rabat, sir? My son has the lead role in the Christmas play tonight, he’d be devastated if I didn’t attend. I’ll make up the time tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes, off you go now.” Tito turned to the courier. “So, where is your delivery note?” Rabats Jewellers still did things the old fashioned way of checking off deliveries on paper, which could then be scanned and stored. Tito wasn’t sure why he still did this, but it was probably because his father had always done it, and he wanted to keep some connection with him.

The back door of the shop clicked shut as Angelique went out that way for security reasons.

“Here.” The young man reached into his jacket and pulled out a sheaf of papers. Tito raised his eyebrows. Normally couriers kept the notes in plastic wallets, not in their jackets.

“Are you new?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you delivering here before.”

“Yes—I mean—no. I usually deliver on the other side of the city but Juan and Manuel are off sick so I had to fill in.”

“Aha, yes.” Tito knew Juan and Manuel, and their names reassured him. For a second he’d feared he was the victim of a prank. But still wary, he swiftly locked the front door of the shop to stop intruders barging in on this dark, cold night. There was no one around anyway—people had bought their jewellery well before Christmas, because the customers of Rabats had enough money to plan well in advance.

“So which of these is the note for today’s delivery?” asked Tito, looking at the pile of papers, which the courier had dumped on top of the counter.

“Er…” he said, peering at them. “This one?” He picked one out and held it up.

“No, that’s last week’s,” corrected Tito, feeling a bubble of annoyance starting to simmer.

“Oh! What about this one?” The courier thrust another sheet at the manager.

“No! That’s yesterday! Haven’t you done this job before?”

“I have! I’m just not used to getting interrogated!

The pair frowned at each other, then Tito reminded himself to keep calm.

“Let me see the actual delivery, then I can assess it. Where’s your driver’s mate? In the van? Does he have the note?”

“Well—er—actually—I’m on my own. They couldn’t find anyone else who wasn’t ill.”

“What?! That’s strictly against delivery protocol, I’m going to call your manager about this.”

They stared at each other again, the courier looking so worried that Tito relented.

“It’s not your fault, it’s your company’s. They should know not to send a courier on his own. But anyway, we can sort this out. Show me the box.”

The courier pushed forward the trolley he’d been holding and handed one box to Tito, who put it on the counter. The manager unlocked it and pulled out a box of round cut diamond rings and gasped with relief. He took one ring from its place and held it up to the light, smiling broadly.

He turned to the courier and saw him smiling in return and they had a moment of just gazing at each other. Tito noticed the name tag on the uniform said _M. Viñales_ and wondered what the _M_ stood for. But anyway, back to business.

“Tell you what, you look through the papers and find the right one, while I check my online list to see if the delivery is correct,” Tito said briskly, to cover the fact he’d been ogling a handsome young man. He was nearly thirty so shouldn’t be doing that.

They stood in companionable silence for a while—Viñales shuffling through his papers, Tito clicking on his laptop screen, checking the identity of the rings, then some necklaces and watches in the other boxes. All was quiet, until the younger man suddenly sneezed violently and his papers flew everywhere, but mostly over the counter and behind the desk.

“Oh my god!” he shouted, disturbing the studious atmosphere in an instant. He flung himself over the glass display counter trying to grab the escaped notes, and nearly fell over it, his legs waving like an upturned beetle’s. Tito had to grab the lower edge of his jacket and pull him up, to prevent him falling on his head, or crashing through the glass, or hurting himself in some other way. Plus of course, if he fell through the counter, the damage to the jewellery underneath could be very serious. Tutting, he hauled Viñales up again and onto his feet.

“Thanks! Most people just let me fall on my head when I trip over.” The young courier brushed himself down and stared at the manager with the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Well really—” began Tito but was unable to continue due to laughter bubbling up. The sight of Viñales upside down over the counter had been so comical. “I didn’t know you were a clown!” he blurted, blushing. _Why did I say that? What a stupid thing to say!_

However, his reward was a genuine laugh from the courier, which made him look even more handsome and cute.

“I'm Maverick.” The young man held out his hand. “You’re Mr Rabat, the owner?”

“Oh! Please—call me Tito! Er—Maverick? That’s an unusual name.”

“Oh, yeah, my parents liked the movie _Top Gun_ so I got the name.”

“Well it suits you.” Tito bit his tongue. _What’s wrong with me tonight? I’m just blurting out random comments._ “So, anyway, we still need to find the delivery note.” He turned away to his laptop again, blushing.

“Hm,” said Maverick, shuffling through his papers again.

After a few minutes of quiet, the courier asked, “so you own this store?”

“Yes. Why?” Tito paused in his search for the correct order number.

“Just making conversation. Jeez. Don’t worry, I’m not planning to rob you.”

“Well yes, I own this store and many others, in fact.” Tito sat up proudly. “I manage the whole company.”

“On your own? Don’t you have a family?”

The manager gasped at his bluntness. “Well…now you ask…no. My parents and brother died some years ago.” He could say it now without feeling too sad.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry, how awful.” He looked at Tito sympathetically, his brown eyes like a puppy’s.

“There’s no need to feel sorry for me! I’m perfectly fine!” The blond turned back to his laptop.

“Don’t you have a partner either? Or kids, or someone?”

“No!” he snapped. “But it’s none of your business!”

“You seem very uptight and lonely to me.” Maverick stated. “Do you spend Christmas alone too?”

Tito gasped, not knowing whether to be offended or intrigued. “What gives you the right to—”

“I have a big family, I spend my Christmases with my mama, papa, cousins, uncles, aunts and it’s a fun time, with lots of food and drink. We play silly games and watch movies together, I love it.” His face was glowing with happy anticipation.

Tito couldn’t help but stare jealously at him. His Christmas consisted of a few drinks with work colleagues, then visiting his grandparents, who were getting more and more forgetful and difficult. And as for a partner…he hadn’t had one of those for years. He couldn’t disagree with Maverick’s appraisal of him—he was indeed uptight and lonely.

“That sounds nice. Very different to mine,” he managed to say, feeling a bit choked up.

The young courier stared back at him and he blushed, and turned back to his laptop, focusing on the screen.

After a few minutes, a shriek made him jump. “I’ve found it! Those round cut diamond rings, those necklaces underneath!” He leapt forward, waving the delivery note and almost pushed Tito over. “Have you found the details on here?” He peered at the screen, his shoulder pressed right against the manager’s.

“Er—n—no—” quavered Tito, unnerved by being pushed against the other counter by such a bundle of energy. He clicked on page after page, his hand shaking on the mouse, while Maverick pressed closer, examining the screen.

“There it is!” he shouted, almost deafening his companion, then turning and smiling right into Tito’s face. Which was so overwhelming that the nervous manager nearly fainted. “There, I’ve done your job for you!”

Tito started to speak but couldn’t, so just made a croaky noise, which made Maverick laugh, and that was a much better sound.

“What’s that?” He suddenly looked up to the centre of the room. Tito turned too, even though it was pretty difficult as he was pressed up so closely against the courier. The only thing he could imagine Maverick was looking at was the bunch of mistletoe, tied up there by some junior staff members in a rush of Christmas excitement. He’d told Angelique to take it down as soon as possible—silly things like that weren’t appropriate for the luxury brand of Rabats’ jewellery, but she’d obviously forgotten.

“We must obey the mistletoe,” said Maverick, and went to kiss Tito’s cheek. Unfortunately—or fortunately—the manager was just turning back to look at him so the courier’s kiss landed on his lips. Tito made a strangled sound in his throat and froze in terror, his knees going wobbly. But luckily Maverick was alert and put his arms round the taller man, keeping his lips on his. Tito could feel he was smiling and they kissed further, getting more and more passionate, falling back until the manager could feel the counter pressing into his back, and Maverick’s hard cock pressing into his front.

He just gave into it—he hadn’t experienced affection for so, so long. It felt like years. He wrapped his arms round Maverick and let himself be pushed back onto the counter by this courier he’d only known for half an hour. Normally, he’d be worried about breaking the glass but today he was just swept away by the late hour, the hot courier, the yearning for some love—for once—in his life. This was supposed to be the season of goodwill and happiness, for heaven’s sake!

He suddenly remembered he was leaning on glass and tore his lips from Maverick’s. “Stop! Stop,” he groaned.

The courier leapt up at once. “Sorry! Am I hurting you?”

“No! No, I’m just worried about breaking the counter.”

The younger man laughed and pulled him up from his horizontal position to standing, in one strong movement, which meant they were pressed together again.

“Are you alright?” he asked, smiling up at the manager. “I get a bit carried away sometimes.” He was smiling so broadly, it showed he wasn’t apologising, just explaining.

“It’s fine. Normally, I’m always in charge, always the boss, I get tired of it.” Tito slumped back against the counter.

“Really? Well I’m always happy to be in charge.” Maverick chuckled naughtily and the couple gazed at each other.

“I suppose we better get back to checking off the delivery.” The manager couldn’t summon up any enthusiasm.

“It’ll take us two minutes, then we can so something more interesting. Can you pull down the shutters? For security reasons.”

Tito obediently went to the windows and pressed the shutter button. He again admired the technology he’d had installed—there was no need to riskily go out of the shop to pull down manual shutters, they came down automatically. He felt a rush of happiness that wasn’t anything to do with the shutters, however, when he turned back to see Maverick whirling into action, putting the boxes on the floor, unlocking them and comparing the contents to the delivery note and the laptop screen. The courier looked up at him, and Tito smiled broadly, he hadn’t felt a smile like that for so long that his face hurt a tiny bit.

“There!” shouted the younger man at last. “Done it! Now what’s my reward?”

“Oh, I dunno.” Tito’s head was telling him to send the courier back to work, then get home himself, but his heart was telling him the opposite.

“We’ll meet up at Christmas, that’s my reward,” suggested Maverick. “What do you do for Christmas, you didn’t tell me?”

Tito sighed. “Drinks with colleagues. Then I visit my ancient grandparents, who are gradually forgetting who I am.” He looked down at the floor. Back to reality.

“That sounds really boring! How about this? You come to my place for Christmas, I insist. You’ll have a nice meal and we can cuddle up on the sofa—or whatever?” With a half-smile on his lips, he looked Tito up and down.

“But how do I know you won’t take advantage of me?” Also suppressing a smile, the manager gazed innocently at him.

“You don’t. You’ll have to let me be in charge for once.” He winked slowly and deliberately. “Also, this was my last delivery for the day. What shall we do now?”

“Well, if I’m coming to your place for Christmas, maybe you should have a meal at mine this evening? Just to get to know each other?”

Maverick gave a naughty chuckle, which was echoed by Tito, who began to switch off the lights on the display cases, ready to leave.

^^^THE END^^^

_Next chapter- Dovi takes Sara to see Santa, but Sara isn’t the only one who goes home with a present…_


	4. {{{ SANTA }}}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dovi takes Sara to see Santa, but Sara isn’t the only one who goes home with a present…

Andrea had a headache. Sara had been jumping up and down for half an hour now as he tried to get them both ready to go and visit Santa’s Grotto. She was shouting, “Santa, Papa! Papa, Santa!” over and over again, getting more and more excited as her father became more and more frazzled. But Friday after work was the only time he could fit in taking her to see Father Christmas. It was so near to the big day now, that there was limited time for anything, but he’d promised to take Sara to see the jolly old gentleman every year. And he wanted to keep that promise as it was important to have Christmas traditions.

When they arrived at the shopping centre, they made their way to the grotto, where there stood a long queue of excited children and tired looking parents, some holding crying babies. The store was stuffy and hot, and the queue was moving at a snail’s pace, so Andrea sighed as he joined the back of it, while trying to stop a jumping Sara bouncing off into the scenery.

After about forty minutes, they got within range of Santa—the venerable old gentleman was calmly asking each child what he or she wanted for Christmas, then producing a wrapped present from a huge bag of the store’s own items. Andrea could see why the queue was moving so slowly—Santa was really interested in each child’s wishes, and each one talked at length to him, obviously feeling safe and listened to.

It’s a great way to promote the store’s own range of products, thought Andrea cynically, his feet starting to hurt. To distract himself, he listened to the store music playing from the nearby speaker:

_Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree for me_  
_Been an awful good girl_  
_Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight_

_Santa baby, a '54 convertible too convertible too, light blue_  
_I'll wait up for you, dear_  
_Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight_

It made him smile—he didn’t want a sable but he would love a ’54 convertible. Maybe _he_ should ask Santa for a present too.

And then they were the next in line—after a small blond boy received the gift of a train set, it was Sara’s turn.

But the little boy slipped as he walked away, too focused on his present to look where he was going. His mother and sisters were hurrying away and Andrea’s heart missed a beat as the child was about to fall on the small picket fence where the toy reindeer stood. It wasn’t sharp but pointed and could give him a nasty cut. Andrea stepped forward to stop him, even though Sara was pulling him the other way.

But Santa was faster. He jumped off his seat and reached out to pull the little boy by his dungaree straps away from danger, and successfully caught him just before he fell.

“Come back!” he called to the mother, and she rushed back with her daughters. “I know you’re busy, but take care of your little chap,” Santa advised, and the woman swept the child up in her arms, who was still intent on his toy, while his mother fussed over him.

Andrea was full of admiration for Santa. He surely must be a lot younger than he looked—the white beard, hair and round, cuddly shape were false. He’d always assumed Santas were elderly men but of course they didn’t have to be—they could be anyone under the costume, even women, to keep things equal.

Now it was actually Sara’s turn so father and daughter stepped up to Santa, who was still straightening his clothes. Unfortunately, his white wig was sideways and Andrea stifled a giggle.

“Hello, young lady, what’s your name?” asked Santa, rather hoarsely, and Andrea couldn’t help a chuckle slipping out at the sight of the sticking out hair. “It seems your papa has the giggles.”

He caught Andrea’s eye and the Italian was surprised to see that Santa’s eyes were dark brown with a twinkle in them, and there were no wrinkles or other signs of age round them. He was definitely younger than he appeared.

“I’m Sara,” said the little girl excitedly.

“Hello Sara. And what would you like for Christmas?”

“I’d like a girl doll with a motorbike,” she replied firmly. “A girl doll who could beat the boys at racing, and win, like Ana Carrasco.”

“Well, let me see.” Santa peered into the bag. “Well how about that. Just what you want!” He produced a wrapped parcel with ‘girl biker’ written on it and started coughing.

Andrea gasped and Santa caught his eye again.

“No, don’t gasp, it’s ‘ho ho ho’,” he said, and demonstrated with a genuine Santa laugh. Andrea was mesmerised and gazed into his eyes.

“Ooh look Papa!” shrieked Sara, pulling at the wrapping paper to see a corner of the doll’s box.

“No, don’t open it yet,” said Andrea. “Wait til Christmas day.”

Poor Santa began coughing again, and the Italian had a brainwave. 

“What would Santa like to drink? Some water or coffee?” he asked.

“Oh god yes,” said Santa, in an unmistakeably young man’s voice. Then pulled Andrea’s arm to bring him close enough so he could whisper in his ear. “Put some brandy in the coffee would you? I’ve been talking for hours and putting on a Santa voice too.”

The two Italians hurried off on their mission. Every store displayed tinsel, stars, fake snow, shiny baubles in the windows, and festive music was playing out of every speaker.

_Sleigh bells ring, are you listening_  
_In the lane, snow is glistening_  
_A beautiful sight_  
_We're happy tonight_  
_Walking in a winter wonderland_

“What are we doing, Papa?” asked Sara. “Can’t we go home? I want to put my present under the tree.”

“We are saving Santa’s life,” said her father importantly. “He gets very tired this time of year, he needs us to help him.”

They reached the nearest coffee shop, and Andrea quickly bought a large coffee with brandy in, and a cup of water from a dispenser. Quickly, he strode back to Santa’s Grotto, with Sara trotting next to him.

Andrea waited for a gap in people leaving the grotto, then slipped in the exit and handed the drinks to Santa.

“Oh, god bless you,” he said and took a huge gulp of water. “All my elves are off sick tonight and I’ve got no one to help me.” Another child arrived with her mother, and he turned to ask her what she wanted. Andrea retreated, frowning. Weren’t there any ‘relief elves’ who could step in?

He made a decision. “Sara?” he asked. “Santa needs assistants tonight, shall we stay and help him out? It’s very important.”

“Okay!”

“But first, are you tired? We can go home if you are tired.”

“No!” she squealed. “I want to help Santa. But can I open my toy?”

“Go on, then.” Andrea knew she’d get loads of presents from her doting grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends, so opening one now didn’t matter. He knew he was very lucky to have so many supportive people to help him look after her, but he would like someone just for himself too. Just someone to make him feel like an individual again, not just dad/ son/ nephew/ employee.

The little girl shrieked, and tore open the biker girl box, taking out the toy and fixing it all together with her dad’s help.

Andrea didn’t want to get in the way of Santa talking to the children, so he only fetched a cup of water from the dispenser every half hour and coffee every hour.

He watched the parents with Santa, wondering if they realised he was a lot younger than the character was supposed to be. Surely some did, because they were a bit flirty with him.

_I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus_  
_Underneath the mistletoe last night_  
_She didn't see me creep_  
_Down the stairs to have a peep_  
_She thought that I was tucked up_  
_In my bedroom, fast asleep_

At last it was time for the grotto to close, so the door finally shut and the _Santa’s Busy Wrapping Presents Now _sign appeared in the window. It was now 8pm, so past Sara’s bedtime.__

____

Andrea and Sara waited anxiously outside, the father hoping he hadn’t overstepped the boundaries of Santa/ human relationships by acting as a waiter tonight. Maybe they should just slip away and leave him in peace?

He was surprised when a tall, good looking, dark haired young man, definitely not elderly, stepped out of the grotto. He looked tired but had a very smiley face.

__“Thank you so much!” he said happily to Andrea and Sara. “I really needed your help tonight. I love playing Santa but talking all evening is very dehydrating.”_ _

__“What do you mean, playing Santa?” asked Sara, confused. “Where’s Santa gone?”_ _

__The two men exchanged knowing smiles and the young man quickly explained. “I was helping Santa sort the presents out, behind the scenes but he’s now gone back to the North Pole to wrap more.” The little girl nodded wisely and the fake Santa winked at Andrea, who suppressed a laugh._ _

__“My name’s Aleix,” he said. “I work here every Friday, Saturday and Sunday evenings.” The words hung in the air as the men gazed at each other._ _

__“I’m Andrea.” They shook hands._ _

__Just then, an alarm bell rang and made the trio jump. Sara leapt into her father’s arms, shrieking._ _

__“What’s that?” shouted Andrea over the noise._ _

__“Fire alarm. We need to get out.” Aleix lead them quickly down the corridors of the huge shopping complex, one hand carrying the bag containing his costume, and one hand holding Andrea’s arm to guide him, because he was carrying Sara. Finally they reached the exit doors where late night shoppers were milling around…because they were locked!_ _

__“Is it real? Is it a real fire alarm?” shouted everyone in fear. They were crowding together so much that Andrea hugged Sara closer to him and he was relieved when Aleix put his arm round them both to protect them from being buffeted by the frightened shoppers. He was a lot taller and bigger than Andrea so his protection kept them safe._ _

__They could see it was snowing outside and Andrea hoped they could get out safely. He couldn’t smell smoke or hear any flames or people screaming, so surely it was a false alarm? He rocked Sara a little to keep her calm, as if she were a baby._ _

_____Oh, the weather outside is frightful_  
_But the fire is so delightful_  
_And since we've no place to go_  
_Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow_

_____Man it doesn't show signs of stoppin'_  
_And I brought some corn for poppin'_  
_The lights are turned way down low_  
_Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow_

__At last a security guard hurried towards them, jangling keys in his hand. “Don’t worry folks, it’s a false alarm. Excuse me please, sorry. Please make your way home.” He unlocked one door and people surged out, then he went to unlock two others, letting more trapped shoppers out._ _

__Aleix, Andrea and Sara headed to the car park._ _

__“How are you getting home?” asked Aleix._ _

__“We’re parked over there, would you like a lift somewhere?”_ _

__“If it’s not too much trouble? Getting a bus this time of night can be…interesting. I live on the edge of the old town.”_ _

__“Oh, that’s nice, whereabouts?”_ _

__Aleix gave directions and they set off. Andrea felt relaxed with the young Santa—there was something encouraging and light about him that cheered the Italian up._ _

__They drew up at Aleix’s home—it was a large, ex-warehouse, converted into flats. It was very stylish, and Andrea gazed longingly out of the windscreen at it. He’d always wanted to live in a place like that._ _

__Sara peered out of the window at the back. “That’s the sort of place my biker girl will live in when she’s rich and famous!” she announced._ _

__Both Andrea and Aleix smiled at her._ _

__“Thanks so much for the lift,” said the younger man. “My next shift helping Santa is tomorrow, same place, same time.” He looked questioningly at Andrea as he opened the car door._ _

__The Italian was just thinking what to say, when his daughter pre-empted him. “Papa, papa can we go and see Santa again tomorrow? We can help him again like tonight. I might get another biker doll!”_ _

__“Okay, you mercenary child.” Andrea laughed. “If that’s alright, shall we come and supply you with drinks all night again?”_ _

__Aleix beamed. “Yes, if you don’t mind. Looking forward to it.” He opened the car door and walked away through the lightly falling snow, waving at the two Italians._ _

__“Switch the radio on, Papa!” shrieked the little girl, and he did so._ _

_____I don't want a lot for Christmas_  
_There is just one thing I need_  
_And I don't care about the presents_  
_Underneath the Christmas tree_

_____I don't need to hang my stocking_  
_There upon the fireplace_  
_Santa Claus won't make me happy_  
_With a toy on Christmas Day_

_____I just want you for my own_  
_More than you could ever know_  
_Make my wish come true_  
_All I want for Christmas_  
_Is you_

__Aleix made his way to the door of the building, and once he’d got safely inside, the father and daughter drove away towards their own home. Andrea was beaming too now. Although he loved Christmas with Sara and their family, maybe he’d enjoy it even more this year._ _

__{{{ THE END }}}_ _

Next chapter- _Alex Marquez gets into trouble at the end of season awards gala but is saved by an unexpected hero._


	5. ***STARS***

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex Marquez gets into trouble at the end of season awards gala but is saved by an unexpected hero.

Alex breathed out with relief as he slipped out of the awards ceremony in Valencia. The noise of the talking and music, the bright lights, the sheer number of people in the room overwhelmed him, and he took every chance he could to take a breather. He wandered away from the building, and down a deserted side street. He wanted to support Marc with his championship victory, but his brother knew large crowds were too much for him and didn’t mind if he slipped away, as long as he came back for his presentation.

The younger Marquez breathed a sigh of relief at the peace and quiet in the dimly lit alley, and sat down on a convenient bench, turning away from the main street. He’d left his jacket inside the ballroom and put a hoodie over his shirt to keep him warmer and look less obviously someone who should be at a formal event. Feeling cosy, he shut his eyes for a few minutes.

He thought back over the season. _I haven’t achieved the top three but I’ve learned a lot. I’ve more or less decided to stay in Moto2—I’d love to graduate to MotoGP but as the years go by, I think my chance is slipping away. I’m just not a good enough rider to earn the place._ He sighed sadly. _But maybe I can make Moto2 my territory, maybe win the title one day soon? I am different to Marc, and that’s how it is._

“Hey!” shouted a loud voice. Then something squishy hit Alex’s back. His eyes flew open and he turned to see a bunch of people wearing VR46 caps and jackets, glowing garishly yellow in the subdued light of the street. They stood a few metres away, gesturing and jeering, shouting, “Marquez! Cheat! Liar!” etc. They appeared to be drunk as they began swaying towards him. 

Alex’s heart sunk as he looked down at his MM93 hoodie—he’d forgotten he’d grabbed it to go outside. He always wore Marc’s branded items to support him, especially at the award ceremony. He looked round—the street was a dead end so he’d have to get past these thugs to escape—so stood up, hoping his height would intimidate them.

The VR46 fans paused for a minute, mumbling, “that’s not Marc,” but then surged forward again, shouting obscenities and shaking their fists. One of them threw something at Alex and it splatted against his chest this time—a rotten tomato! He must have one on his back too! It would have made him laugh if he wasn’t alone and surrounded by lunatics in an unfamiliar town.

He stepped forward, determined to fight them off, and their jeers became louder. _This is like the time those Italian journalists had attacked my family at our home. What the hell is wrong with these people?_ He braced himself for attack, glaring at the rabble in front of him.

“Oi!” shouted a voice, and Alex looked past the gang to see a tall figure silhouetted in the light from the main street. _Have I slipped into a comic book world, and Batman has come to save me?_ But as the man strode towards the group, it was obvious he was wearing an evening suit.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted at the VR46 fans, then it dawned on everyone at once that it was Luca Marini, the younger brother of their idol.

“We found Alex Marquez,” shouted the ring leader. “The brother of the lying shit who cheated Vale out of his tenth title.”

Luca paused, his eyes almost glowing blue with anger. “Whatever you think, you do not behave like this to ANYONE. What would my brother say if he knew? He’d throw you out of his VR46 fan club!”

The group mumbled and gasped, clutching at each other. “Oh no!” one piped up. “No, please don’t tell him, we don’t want to be thrown out, please!”

Luca stared at them for a long minute. “I won’t tell him if you get on your way and behave well in future.” He folded his arms, this time looking like Superman. “Please leave immediately!”

The gang of fans hurried to obey him, pushing and shoving each other to get out of the side street as quickly as possible.

“Thank you!” said Alex the minute they’d left. “I’ve had enough hassle from people like that, since—well—you know…” He stared nervously at his rescuer, not wanting to mention the taboo subject of 2015.

Luca sighed. “Me too, from the other side. Our brothers don’t realise how much trouble they cause, do they?”

“You can say that again.” Alex rolled his eyes. “But I should be getting back to the award ceremony.” He stepped towards the main street, reluctant to go back to the loud, bright ballroom. “May I ask…what you’re doing out here right now?”

“I was at the award ceremony—”

“Yes of course, but I meant—why aren’t you still in there? I’m glad you weren’t of course but…” Alex was aware he was babbling and ground to a halt. _Of all people to save me from fanatics, it had to be Luca Marini._

“It’s too loud in there, there’s too many people and it’s too bright. It’s too much for me.”

“Me too. I like quiet places,” said Alex and they smiled understandingly at each other.

“I’m there to support Vale but he said I could go out if I wanted a break. We better go back in at some point though.” He didn’t seem keen to return and the two stood looking down at the ground for a moment.

“We could go for a coffee if you like? I know a place round here where they don’t make a fuss if you’re famous.” _How big headed do I sound?_

“At this time of night?”

“It’s nearly Christmas—all the shops are open.” 

“Okay.”

Alex was suddenly very aware of his brother’s number burning a hole in his back, so he took the hoodie off and turned it inside out.

“What are you doing?” asked Luca, smiling.

“I don’t want to be a target of that lot again.” It was hard to put on an inside-out hoodie however, and the Italian had to help him, until they were both giggling.

“That just looks really weird.” 

The exposed seams of the hoodie stuck out in all directions, like hedgehog spines.

“I am really weird, so it’s perfect.” Alex pulled a face at him, which made them both giggle even more. “Come on, I’ll treat you to coffee because you saved my life.”

“Well. I’m not having that behaviour, I’m tired of my brother’s crazy fans.”

The pair were walking now, away from the awards ceremony and their annoying brothers. Alex was right—all the shops and eateries were doing a roaring trade this evening, with lots of people milling around, laughing and talking. No one noticed the two well-known riders slipping between them.

“I’ve often thought that about fans,” sighed Alex. “I’m really tired of this rivalry and drama.”

“Me too. Although, I thought you and Marc were united.”

“We are! I’ll always support him…but I just want to race bikes, you know? Not get death threats and be attacked everywhere I go.”

Luca stopped walking. “Does this happen a lot?”

“Not a lot…just enough times to be annoying and boring.” Alex sighed. “Sorry, but some of your brother’s fans aren’t right in the head.”

“I know, believe me! It’s so stupid! Why can’t they just move on?” 

The pair continued walking, and reached a picturesque square featuring a tinkling fountain. One café area had palm trees set in pots surrounding little wicker tables and chairs where people sat, talking and laughing. 

Luca stopped to look at it all in delight. “Is this the place?”

“Yes, but we can go inside to escape any passing loons.” Alex guided him to the door of the restaurant.

A hostess met them there. “Ah, Mr Marquez,” she said.

“They know you here?” whispered Luca.

“I’ve been here a few times with my family.”

The hostess led them through the inside area of the establishment The indoor tables and chairs were made of warm brown wood with black metal frames, and as it was only a month before Christmas, each table sported a poinsettia in a gold pot. Many trailing plants hung from holders in the ceiling and they too were festively decorated with gold and red artificial leaves placed in between the living ones. The leaves must have been scented, because wafts of cinnamon, orange and clove enveloped the two riders as they followed the hostess to an outdoor conservatory. As the weather was chilly, the main doors of the conservatory were shut, but there was a stunning view of the sea in the distance. Luca stopped again and gasped when he saw it.

“Beautiful isn’t it,” said Alex, feeling warm inside at seeing the surprised happiness on Luca’s face.

“But look at the sky!” said the Italian.

Because Alex had been so busy looking at the sea, he hadn’t noticed the vast panorama of stars, twinkling in the night sky, like little pinpoints in a velvet, royal blue curtain.

Luca stood there staring at the panorama for so long, Alex wondered if he’d stalled, like a bike sometimes did if you left it idle.

“Come along,” said the young Catalan, squeezing his arm. “Shall we sit here?” He led him to a table right by the vast window and they sat down.

“Would you like coffee, gentlemen? Or something alcoholic?” asked the waitress, who was hovering nearby. The people at other tables took no notice of the riders, busy with their own conversations and interests.

“I’d really like some normal food,” said Luca. “Can I just have pasta with Bolognese sauce?” He looked so sweetly at the waitress that she nodded and wrote it down.

Alex gazed at his companion. “The gala food is too fancy for me, too,” he said. “Make that two plates of pasta, please?”

“And a bottle of red wine,” added Luca. 

“So, dare we talk about our brothers?” asked Alex bravely, after the waitress had bustled off to give in their order to the chef.

“I’d rather not. I’m just sorry his ridiculous fans did that to you. Let’s leave it at that. What else can we talk about?”

Before they could think of a subject, the waitress brought their wine and poured it out for them. “Enjoy!” she said. “Our wine is the best quality.”

The two riders sat for a while sipping their drinks and admiring the view.

Then Alex thought of the perfect topic. “How about the race you won this year? And all the podiums? Fantastic work!” He so wanted to show how grateful he was for Luca’s intervention with the VR46 fans but didn’t want to gush. Well not too much anyway.

Luca grinned. “Thanks! I was so happy when I won!” He beamed. Then quickly added, “and don’t forget you. You had podiums too!”

“I’m disappointed I didn’t win any races though. I haven’t won for a while, I seem to have forgotten how.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re tall, like me, you have to change your style. Does Marc advise you? Vale gives me advice all the time.” It sounded like the red wine had gone to the young Italian’s head as he was talking so much.

“Marc’s such a short-arse though, it’s hard to use his advice.”

“What is a short-arse?”

“A short person. It’s an insult.” Alex giggled, so did Luca, and they carried on talking.

The waitress brought their food and although the Italian thought the Bolognese sauce wasn’t the same as his mama would make, he ate it anyway.

It was so easy. Talking about their racing came naturally of course and led to other subjects—they went on to their future ambitions, where they wanted to live, how many championships they wanted to win, how they got on with their family and what types of pets they had.

They took an hour to eat their meals and drink the wine, because they didn’t want to rush back to the gala. But finally they had to admit it was time to go, and free up the table for other guests, who were starting to pour in now, after going to the theatre, cinema or other events.

“I’m paying! To say thanks for helping me out earlier,” said Alex, but then realised his wallet was in his dinner jacket, which was hanging on the back of his chair in the gala hall. His inside out hoodie sat innocently on the back of his chair in the restaurant, empty of any money.

Blushing, he explained the situation to Luca, feeling like the stupidest person in the world.

But when Luca hastily patted his jacket, despite being on the back of his chair in the restaurant, he realised his own wallet was at the gala too, lying on the table.

“What are we going to do?” whispered Alex to him.

“Go over the balcony?” giggled the young Italian. “I’ll distract them and you abseil down the wall.”

Alex looked at him fake-disapprovingly. _It’s a tempting idea, but we’ll be found out for sure and what would the headlines say? **TWO RIVALS’ BROTHERS GOING OUT TO DINNER AND TRYING TO HIDE IT!** There would be uproar and yet more crazy fans attacking us._

__So he signalled the waitress and told her the problem. After a few seconds of glaring at him, she called the manager and he proceeded to give the pair a telling off._ _

__“Too many famous people think they can get away with this, and I’m not having it any longer.” He shook his finger at the two smirking riders. “You will work in the kitchen for two hours to pay for your meal.”_ _

__They had to load the dishwashers and unload them again, because it was the easiest job. And they wouldn’t get in the way of the chefs, as the machines were in a small room off the main kitchen, opposite some deep sinks for washing the pieces of larger equipment._ _

__“Can you imagine my brother doing this?” Luca chortled as he clinked the glasses into the top tray of one dishwasher._ _

__“Or mine? They both think they’re above menial work,” giggled Alex. “You should see Marc’s face when Mama tells him to tidy up his house.”_ _

__One of the kitchen staff, who was staring curiously at the two famous guys, handed the Catalan rider a large bowl to put in the dishwasher. “Put it on the bottom level, it’s too big for the top,” she instructed, and hurried out._ _

__But Alex tripped over his feet, overbalanced and the bowl clanged onto the tiled floor, skidding along it and into Luca’s ankle._ _

__“Oww!” he yelped and reacted instinctively by throwing a half full glass of mineral water over his assailant. It went all over Alex’ shirt and he glared, the white material now transparent due to the soaking._ _

__“You’re for it now!” he exclaimed and turned the tap on at the sink. He began splashing the water at Luca, so fast that it was like a shower spraying on him._ _

__However, the Italian rider was not beaten. He grabbed one of the full syphons of soda that were waiting to be taken to the table, and sprayed it back at Alex, laughing loudly._ _

__They continued attacking each other with their various water weapons, both laughing and shouting in excitement._ _

__“What do you think you’re doing!” shouted a loud voice suddenly. Both riders jumped violently. Luca dropped the soda syphon, which crashed onto the floor and broke. Alex quickly turned off the tap in the deep sink._ _

__“We can hear you in the restaurant!” exclaimed the manager. “You are supposed to be tidying up, not making it worse! Look at yourselves!”_ _

__Alex and Luca looked down at themselves—both their white shirts were drenched and see-through, clinging to their chests. Luckily both their evening trousers were black so their modesty was preserved. Alex couldn’t help sneaking a look at his companion’s muscles—his tan was darker than his own, it had more of a golden tint whereas his own tan was more rosy tinged._ _

__The manager coughed loudly. “Don’t just stand there! Just go! Find your jackets and go!” He waved his arms impatiently at the pair, who tried to suppress their giggles and look regretful, but their glances just kept sliding towards each other._ _

__They walked through the restaurant in their soaking shirts, and everyone stared with open mouths and big eyes. Luca followed Alex, thinking how the Catalan had more of a parallel figure than his own, which was more of a V shaped torso._ _

__The two guys put on their dry jackets, which didn’t help much._ _

__“You can’t throw us out all wet,” complained Alex. “We’ll freeze. At least give us some brandy to warm us up.”_ _

__The hostess, with a sympathetic twinkle in her eye, poured two glasses for them. The pair each downed them in one, making them cough and gasp, but then they were pushed out of the restaurant doors._ _

__“Which way back to the gala hall?” asked Luca, putting his hand through Alex’s arm in a friendly way. The night air was making him so cold in his wet shirt and thin evening jacket, that he wanted to be closer to him. He told himself that was the only reason, anyway…_ _

__“Hey! You are shivering. You should wear my hoodie.” Alex began to take it off._ _

__“No! _You’ll_ be cold then. And I’m not wearing a Marc Marquez hoodie. Imagine me going back into the gala wearing that!”_ _

__The younger Marquez laughed. “We could—er—just not go back at all? It’s boring. We’ll find a shop and buy some new tops.”_ _

__“We haven’t got any money,” Luca reminded him._ _

__“Damn! We’ll have to go back to the stupid gala.” _What else can go wrong tonight?__ _

__They shuffled off together towards the gala hall._ _

__“No, fuck it,” said Alex. “We’re both wet and cold. We’ll get credit for the clothes, I don’t care if we’re recognised.”_ _

__He marched into the nearest menswear shop, Luca tagging along behind, and up to the counter._ _

__“Good evening,” he said. “I think you know me and my friend. We got soaked by accident and need new tops. We also need credit because we lost our wallets too.” He lifted his hoodie to show the astonished shop assistant his wet shirt, and she pointed wordlessly to the nearest carousels of t-shirts and hoodies. The two riders strode over to them, noticing the stunned looks of the other shoppers._ _

__Alex quickly chose long sleeved t-shirts for both of them. Brown for himself and azure blue for Luca. He handed the blue one to the Italian._ _

__“It matches your eyes,” he smiled, blushing. But Luca frowned. “What’s the matter?”_ _

__“You can’t wear that awful colour!” He rifled through the t-shirts on the hangers. “There.” He’d chosen a slate grey one and held it up to Alex. “There. This one matches _your_ eyes.” He beamed and the young Catalan nearly fell backwards into the clothes. _ _

__“Are my eyes grey? Aren’t they more hazel?” he asked when he’d recovered himself._ _

__“They look grey from a distance, but I’d have to look closer to check.” Luca had a cheeky expression on his face and Alex stared at him, unable to speak._ _

__“Thanks,” he said when he finally got his voice back and grabbed two hoodies to match the t-shirts. He pushed Luca towards one changing rom and himself into the other and they put their wet clothes into bags. Finally they were ready and emerged from the rooms._ _

__Alex gasped, then turned it into a cough. _How right I was about that blue bringing out the colour of Luca’s eyes. That colour also does something to his features—he looks like an angel.__ _

__They stood there staring at each other, then the young Catalan pulled himself together, led them to the cashier’s desk, and wrote his details on a piece of paper._ _

__“Charge this account and you’ll be paid within a day.” He beamed at her and steered Luca out of the store, both putting up their hoods to avoid recognition._ _

__“You have some nerve, Alex.”_ _

__“Well, that is finally, my thank you to you, for saving me from those VR46 fans. I fucked up the restaurant but at last, you’ve got a present to show my appreciation.” Although Alex felt like he was getting another present just seeing Luca gazing sweetly at him like that._ _

__“I feel so much warmer now,” said the Italian. “We don’t have to hurry back to that gala thing. We can go for a walk by the beach.” He took Alex’s arm, even though he wasn’t cold anymore, and led him towards the golden sand, which now appeared dull brown in the late evening light. The moon was almost full, the stars were shining down, looking much clearer than they did behind the glass window of the restaurant._ _

__“I think this is one of the best evenings of my life,” continued Luca, holding Alex’s arm tightly._ _

__“What? You have to save me from a beating, then get soaked and thrown out of a restaurant, you miss your brother’s gala presentation and now you’re walking along in wet shoes?”_ _

__“My whole life is timetabled, I have to do everything according to a plan. I’m tired of that.”_ _

__Alex nodded sympathetically, patting Luca’s hand, the one that was through his arm._ _

__“For once, tonight just happened with no plan or—I dunno—ulterior motive. Everything I do is working towards my racing, it’s rare I do something that’s just…pointless.”_ _

__“Pointless? Oh!” Alex felt like he’d been slapped in the face and tried to let Luca’s hand drop out of the crook of his arm._ _

__“No! No, I didn’t mean tonight was pointless!” The Italian’s voice almost became a shout and he took a breath to calm down, refusing to let go of his companion’s arm. “It’s been great…because I’m with you. I wouldn’t have had such a perfect evening on my own. Thank you!”_ _

__Alex stopped them walking and looked at his companion, who was actually a little taller than him, which was nice, because most people he knew were shorter—his brother, his parents, most other riders. He was very surprised to be caught up in a bear hug, but it was wonderful to be cheek to cheek with Luca, it felt comfortable and right. He was doubly surprised when Luca nuzzled against him and kissed his cheek, and almost fell backwards again, but this time was held up by strong arms. He knew he shouldn’t be kissing his brother’s worst enemy’s brother, but he was tired of worrying about Marc and Vale’s stupid argument. It was nothing to do with him, he had his own life to lead—he wasn’t Marc’s assistant._ _

__So he turned his head so his lips met Luca’s, and they kissed standing there in the moonlight, by the beach. And their new hoodies worked perfectly as disguises because no one interrupted, even though they stood there kissing for a long time._ _

__When at last they had to stop for breath, they sat down on a nearby bench, somewhat light headed._ _

__The sky was ink-dark, as the sun had well and truly set now, and so the stars and moon showed up even brighter. The moon left a shining silver path across the midnight blue sea, the stars peeked through the indigo canopy like diamonds._ _

__“Look at the stars,” said Luca, gazing up at the sky while leaning on Alex. “What a beautiful night.”_ _

__Alex sneaked a sideways look at his companion, not the sky. “I agree. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”_ _

__***_ _

__“Luca!” shouted Vale later that evening, as his brother stumbled back into the remains of the awards gala. “Where have you been? And now you’ve come back in different clothes. What’s going on?”_ _

__Luca just smiled sweetly at him._ _

__***_ _

__“Alex!” shouted Marc, a few days later. “Why am I paying for two t-shirts and two hoodies from a store in Valencia?”_ _

__Alex just shrugged innocently at him. Signing Marc’s name instead of his own at the menswear shop had been a very good idea._ _

__

__***THE END***_ _

Next chapter- _Dani has retired, so a lonely Marc goes to visit him on the spur of the moment, and gets a big surprise or two!_


	6. %%% PRESENTS %%%

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dani has retired, so a lonely Marc goes to visit him on the spur of the moment and gets a big surprise or two!

Marc’s stomach felt as if it were full of dancing butterflies as he drove through the snowy landscape along gritted roads, getting nearer and nearer to Dani’s home. He’d only seen him last in November at the Valencia test, but the few weeks since then had dragged and now it was early December. 

His mind was full of happy memories of the years at Repsol Honda with Dani. They had been so much fun, with endless laughter, and it just wasn’t the same with the dour and prickly Jorge testing the bike instead. Dani had said a heartfelt goodbye to everyone after the Valencia gala and flitted away like a mystical sprite. It almost felt as if he hadn’t really been there at all and his presence had been a dream—he hadn’t left any traces of himself in the team, just lovely memories.

So after a few days of debating with himself, Marc had decided to deliver Dani’s present personally. He could send a luxury gift such as brandy, cufflinks or chocolates via courier but something inside him rebelled at the thought of that. He needed to see Dani’s face as he opened the special present.

And here he was, on the road to Dani’s large, luxurious home, which was a converted barn on the outskirts of Geneva. Marc hadn’t visited it before as it was a new home, but before Dani retired, he had insisted very firmly that Marc had an open invitation to drop by any time. That was very unlike the diminutive rider, who was notoriously cautious and wary of people—he liked to know what was happening at all times and didn’t like surprises. Marc’s heart swelled at the thought that _he_ was the exception, the one who Dani didn’t mind surprising him.

He finally turned the corner into Dani’s road and the snow laden gates of his house loomed—Marc had seen a photo of them, so knew it was the right place. They were made of curly silver metal, very striking and cute, rather like their owner. He leant out of the car window to speak into the intercom and a crackly female voice answered.

“Yes?”

“Hello, it’s—er—Marc. I’ve come to visit Dani.”

“Marc who?”

“Marc Marquez. I’m his team mate.” _Ex_ team mate, he reminded himself sadly.

“Oh yes! So sorry! Come on in!”

The gates opened and Marc zoomed through them before the mysterious woman could change her mind. The compacted snow crackled under his tyres as he drove up the long and winding drive.

When he was nearly at the house, the unmistakable sound of bike engines in the distance made his ears prick up. He knew Dani had built a track, so maybe he’d arrived at the right time to see some winter racing! A bubble of excitement rose in his chest and he grinned and put his foot down, making the car skid a little. But he didn’t mind that, he enjoyed being a bit out of control.

***

When he’d parked the car in generous space at the top of the drive, he grabbed Dani’s large, soft, carefully wrapped present from the passenger seat, jumped out and ran to ring the front doorbell. After a few minutes, a neatly dressed, rotund lady with her hair swept up into a bun, opened the door. Marc wondered who she was, because she wasn’t Dani’s mum, Basilia, who he’d met many times.

“Come in, dear,” she said. “I’m Frau Schweitzer, the housekeeper. I’m afraid Dani is busy today with his guests, but you’re welcome to join them?”

“What guests? Where are they?” Marc felt so excited to think of an unexpected race day that he almost dropped the present.

“They’re at the track, but first would you like a coffee or sandwich?” The lady ushered him into the hallway, which was covered in a thick beige carpet into which Marc’s feet sank luxuriously. She hovered around him attentively, waiting for his answer.

“Yes, actually, I would. Both, please.” It had been a long, tiring drive from home on the slippery roads and Marc felt cold too, because it was more wintery in Switzerland than Andorra.

While Frau Schweitzer went to fetch the food and drink, Marc took the opportunity to nose around Dani’s house. It was beautifully decorated with the lovely thick carpet on every floor, a different colour in every room, and matching damask wallpaper, but nothing was pretentious, as Dani himself wasn’t. The house looked like a home, unlike Jorge’s house, which looked like a cross between a hotel and a spaceship. Marc rolled his eyes thinking about the pedantic Majorcan. If only Dani could come back and be happy at Repsol like he used to be…Marc would be happy too…

He heard a voice exclaiming nearby and sneaked closer to it, peering through the door of the room it came from. It was a library, with books lining the walls and a huge Christmas tree decorated in silver and gold angel hair tinsel, with tiny white fairy lights peeping out of its branches and various home made ornaments dotted about. There were red, gold and blue baubles, a red heart, a gold angel, a blue bird. It stood in the corner of the room next to two large arched windows, which surely looked out over the grounds of Dani’s home—Marc would check that out later. The tree would glow beautifully in the windows at night time, a true sign of Christmas. Marc stood in the doorway, staring at the breath-taking decoration, transfixed. 

“Dammit!” said the voice again, and Marc walked into the room to see Dani, wearing a red jumper with a white snowflake pattern and sitting on the thick, cream carpet, surrounded by wrapping paper, and boxes of toys. He was waving a roll of sticky tape, and Marc realised that it was stuck to him.

“Can I help?” He bounded up to Dani, who jumped violently, then smiled.

“Marc!” he exclaimed. “This damn tape, it’s too sticky and I can’t get it off.” He looked up at his ex-team mate with soft brown eyes, so sweetly that Marc almost melted.

“Where are the scissors?” the visitor asked gruffly, to cover his confusion.

Dani found them amongst the drifts of wrapping paper, and Marc set to work snipping the tape off the small man’s hand carefully—he didn’t want to cut him by accident.

“Thank you. It’s so nice to see you, you should have let me know you were coming!” Dani couldn’t stop smiling and Marc was proud to notice it was the smile he kept for his real friends, not the press conference smile he used when he had to.

“Oh well—you know—I—I wanted to surprise you.” That wasn’t the real reason. Marc had debated with himself over and over as to whether he should go to see Dani. Should he just leave him to settle into retirement? Should he focus on his own career and letting things shakedown with his new, difficult team mate? His head told him those were the sensible options. But in the end, his heart had won and he’d driven all the way from Andorra to be here.

“I’m so glad.” Dani beamed even more widely, sitting cross legged like an elf.

Marc beamed back. “What are you doing anyway? Wrapping your family’s presents?” There was so much paper and so many toys that it surely couldn’t just be for the Pedrosas.

To Marc’s surprise, Dani blushed as red as a tomato and seemed to have trouble speaking. 

“Well, I—er—I don’t publicise it, but I—er—”

“What?” Marc was feeling a little worried now.

“Okay, I hold a track day every so often for disabled kids who want to become riders—the ones who can’t afford all the gear. It gives them a taste of how it all works and—and—they don’t know it but I get talent scouts to come and see if there are any who could be sponsored. Today is the day for my pre-Christmas one. I’m sure you heard the noise of the bikes.” He blushed even redder as Marc stared at him with his mouth open.

“That’s—that’s amazing…” stuttered the champion, when he finally managed to speak. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well…you and Alex do that riding school for kids, I didn’t want to steal your glory—so to speak—and I wanted it to be something I personally did and not something the media publicised or interfered with. That probably doesn’t make sense but it was something I felt in my heart that I had to do!” The little rider was highly flustered now—all Marc wanted to do was fling his arms round him, but he was too nervous.

“That’s just great, Dani, it’s—great. I—” He couldn’t even get the words out—what a klutz he was!

The two ex-team mates stared at each other.

“So—anyway—I also buy Christmas presents for them, and I got in a bit of a mess wrapping them. Could you help me?”

Marc almost burst with pride. “Yes, yes of course!” he nearly shouted with joy.

“Ah there you are, Señor Marquez!” Frau Schweitzer bustled in with coffee and sandwiches, and some Swiss chocolates. “I couldn’t find you, then I heard your voice.” She set the tray down on the low, sturdy coffee table and hurried out again, muttering, “now where is that girl Amelie, I told her to vacuum the hallway.”

Dani and Marc made a good team, of course. Marc cut out the paper for each toy, Dani held the edges down on it, while Marc cut the sticky tape and pressed it onto the paper to make a parcel.

In no time at all they had a large pile of red, gold and green presents, and the pair sat back to admire the jolly and welcoming sight.

“Thank god you came, Marc. I’ve always been hopeless at present wrapping, my mum is much better.”

Presents! Marc suddenly remembered his own present—now where had he put it? Luckily it lay on one of the soft, caramel brown sofas nearby—he must have dropped it there in his excitement. “Here’s something I got you. Happy Christmas,” he mumbled, holding it out shyly.

Dani shrieked with excitement, like a child, and Marc smiled soppily at him. “You can open it now if you want?”

“Oh yes, if you don’t mind? I’ve got something for you too.”

“Open yours first,” instructed Marc, desperate to finally see his friend’s reaction, after all his anticipation.

Dani wasted no time tearing open the wrapping paper, which was decorated with elves in various cute poses. Marc had chosen that paper specially because elves reminded him of Dani. The smaller rider pulled out a black, handmade jumper, which had been knitted by Marc’s mother, Roser. It had a pattern of a samurai warrior on the front, wearing a number 26 on his chest.

Dani gasped and sat back on his heels. Were those tears in his eyes?

“Don’t you like it?” Marc’s heart fluttered.

“No, I LOVE IT!” Dani shouted, and flung himself forward into Marc’s arms and they cuddled for a good few minutes.

After that, it got awkward and they separated. But Dani began to take off his red, Christmassy jumper, and reveal his muscly abs and chest…Marc didn’t know where to look, so gazed out of the window at the snowy landscape. Eventually Dani had wriggled into the Samurai jumper and stood up, posing aggressively like a body builder, still looking cute and giggling.

“It looks great!” Marc jumped up too, and almost fell into the pile of presents.

“And now for your present! It’s in my bedroom!” shouted Dani excitedly, and he ran out of the room.

Marc flopped down in the nearest chair, his heart pounding, and he sank into the welcoming softness, feeling like he was being embraced. He’d missed Dani so much and it was overwhelming to be near him again. He must stay cool and sensible.

Frau Schweitzer glided in holding some shiny bows for the presents. “These will add the finishing touch.” She handed them to Marc. “I’m so glad you are here. Dani has been moping around since he left Valencia. He misses you.”

Marc blushed and stared at her like an idiot with his mouth dropping open. “What?”

“I just wanted to say that. I hope you stay in contact with him now he’s retired. Please don’t abandon him.” She winked.

Then Dani returned and she left hastily.

“Here it is.” He handed a small velvet box to Marc, shyly. The taller rider had the sudden feeling it was an engagement ring, and had to swallow a nervous giggle, telling himself not to be so silly.

He pried the delicate thing open, then gasped. In it sat a pair of cufflinks, each with the figure 7 on. When Marc peered at them closely, each number was made of 7 tiny jewelled ants! He stepped back in shock, tears pricking his eyes.

“D—don’t you like them?” quavered Dani.

“I LOVE THEM!” Marc stepped forward and swept him up in a bear hug, lifting him up off the carpet as high as he could, and Dani giggled in delight.

He got so carried away by enthusiasm, that although he meant to kiss his friend on the cheek, he kissed him on the lips instead. Dani was so surprised that he pulled backwards and they ended up falling into a pile of wrapping paper together, which crinkled and scrunched beneath them like newly fallen snow.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me! I’ve just missed you so much!” Marc blurted as he pushed himself off his team mate and backed away into another chair, falling into it as if he were drunk. He felt so ashamed that he jumped up, babbling, “I’ll go now, I don’t want to interfere with your track day, forget this happened, I’ll just see you when I see you, some time, no pressure.” He retreated towards the door of the library, stumbling over stray wrapping paper, bumping into coffee tables, overbalancing in the deep pile carpet.

“It’s alright, Marc! Don’t go. Come back! Please!” Dani shouted as he sat up, straightened his jumper and smoothed down his hair.

Marc had stopped reversing but he wasn’t returning, so Dani stood up and hurried to him. “I don’t mind what happened! I’m happy! I was so happy when you turned up, I didn’t know what to do with myself without you! Please don’t run away.” He looked so worried and excited, that Marc thought maybe it was really okay?

They gazed at each other for a long moment, then kissed properly, taking their time as the wrapping paper crinkled beneath their feet, the fire crackled in the grate, and the Christmas tree lights twinkled. Far away in the distance, bike engines roared and people cheered. But nothing disturbed the loving couple.

Only a discreet cough interrupted their dream, and they turned to see the reliable Frau Schweitzer standing in the doorway.

“Just to say, the award ceremony is going to start in ten minutes at the track, so you need to go there now, Dani.” Her broad grin told them that she approved of what she was seeing, then she glided away to give them some privacy.

“Oh! Yes. Yes of course.” Dani flapped around, straightening his clothes and hair, almost falling over as he felt so giddy. “We need to put these parcels in a bag, and take them to the children, and present the awards, and—” He prattled on in a flustered state, while Marc did as he was told, fetched present bags and tidied the room up a bit. Neither of them could stop smiling, though and kept looking admiringly at the other.

“So you’re glad about what just happened?” Marc couldn’t resist asking, feeling rather nervous.

“Of course! I’ve wanted to kiss you for—for ages—but—but you’re so much younger than me. I thought I was just regretting my lost youth, or something.” Dani sighed.

“Lost youth! You’re only thirty three! Really! And I’m nearly twenty six! I’m not a kid, so there is nothing stopping us age-wise.” His heart floated in his chest, as light as a feather, released from all worries.

“So shall we see each other over Christmas and New Year?”

“Yes! And after that!” Marc grinned and was pleased to see his grin reflected in his team mate’s face. No, his ex-team mate. No…his friend. No! His boyfriend! It just kept getting better.

***

Down at the track, which was set in an open area of the grounds but still with a magnificent view of the mountains and valleys around, Dani stood on the podium. He presented the awards for the first race to the winning three children, then spoke into the microphone. “And now we have a special guest, the seven times MotoGP champion and my boyf—I mean, my ex-team mate, Marc Marquez!”

Marc smiled as he heard what Dani had nearly said—they both obviously had the same feelings and goal. Of course they did. They always had.

Everyone cheered as Marc stepped up to present the next set of awards. He looked round at the various children with their diverse disabilities, and his heart swelled with pride—for them as they deserved so much praise for being so dedicated—and for Dani with his selfless and kind nature. What a Christmas this was going to be!

 

%%%THE END%%%

 

**\"/_\"/_\"/_\"/ MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR! \"/_\"/_\"/_\"/**


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